A Conversation With 'The Road To Freedom' Writer-Performer Yolande Boyom and James Scarborough

The following interview from “What the Butler Saw” by James Scarborough is published with permission

Few plays tackle human trafficking with such directness. Yolande Boyom’s “The Road to Freedom,” adapted from her documentary film, presents harsh realities on stage without dilution. The production works both as drama and as activism.

Boyom’s background in nursing and social work gives the project clinical precision. Co-directed with Billie King, the play draws on true accounts of women trafficked across borders. Unlike conventional issue-based theater, this work refuses to separate art from action. The production is part of a day-long awareness event with nonprofits, survivor testimonies and panel discussions.

Free admission removes financial barriers, replaced by a mandatory blue t-shirt purchase that turns the audience into visible participants in the anti-trafficking movement. By wearing these shirts, viewers become part of the statement rather than mere spectators.

At the Hollywood Fringe Festival, known for experimental and often lighthearted fare, the production stands as both counterpoint and provocation. It asks whether theater can be more than entertainment – whether it can help solve social problems. The play doesn’t just show trauma; it offers solutions.

Below follows an email conversation with Yolande Boyom and James Scarborough.

JS: Your work spans nursing, social work, and now theater. How does your medical and social. services background informs your approach to dramatizing trauma, to creating a work that aims to be both artistically compelling and therapeutically responsible?

YB: My background in nursing and social work has completely shaped how I approach this project. I didn’t come into the world of theater just to tell stories; I came to heal through storytelling. Working in both the medical field and mental health services gave me firsthand exposure to the silent suffering that so many people carry, especially survivors of human trafficking. I’ve seen the physical scars, but also the invisible wounds, the shame, the dissociation, the fear, the loss of identity. Those experiences taught me that trauma doesn’t end when the abuse stops, it lingers in the body, in the mind, in the spirit. So, when I wrote and began directing The Road to Freedom, I carried that responsibility. This couldn’t just be a dramatic play. It had to be therapeutically responsible, emotionally honest, and artistically safe, for the audience, and especially for survivors who might see themselves reflected on stage.

JS: “The Road to Freedom” exists as both a film and stage adaptation. What storytelling possibilities does live theater offer that film doesn’t when conveying the realities of human trafficking? What staging choices have you made to utilize those theatrical advantages?

YB: The Road to Freedom didn’t start on stage. It started as a film, a docudrama that let me piece together real stories in a powerful cinematic format. But as I continued this work, I realized something: film can show you the story, but theater makes you feel trapped inside it and for a topic like human trafficking, that proximity is everything. Live theater brings a kind of raw intimacy that film can’t fully replicate. When the audience is sitting just feet away from the actors breathing the same air, watching pain unfold in real time, they don’t get to disconnect. They’re forced to confront the discomfort, the injustice, and the humanity of the characters in a way that feels immediate and real. For this stage adaptation, I’ve made specific choices to lean into that. We’re using minimal sets and immersive blocking to break the fourth wall and make the audience feel like they’re not just watching, they’re witnessing. The girls don’t just speak to each other, at times, they speak directly to the crowd. There are moments of stillness, silence, even darkness, because I want people to sit in the tension. To not escape it. Because survivors don’t get to.

JS: The structure of your event (exhibition, performance, and panel discussion) seems to resist traditional theatrical formats. Could you explain your decision to create this hybrid model rather than presenting the play as a standalone work?

YB: You’re right, this isn’t a traditional theatrical experience, and that’s very intentional. When I decided to bring The Road to Freedom to the stage, I knew it couldn’t just be a performance. Human trafficking isn’t entertainment, it’s an emergency. And if we’re going to ask people to sit in that reality, we also have to give them ways to respond to it. That’s why I built the event as a hybrid model, with a resource exhibition, a live performance, and a panel discussion. Each element speaks to a different layer of awareness and impact. The expo gives people access to real organizations, real resources, right there, in the same space. The play engages their emotions, humanizes the statistics, and forces the audience to feel the urgency of this issue. And the panel brings in survivors, experts, and advocates who can process what was just witnessed, and provide tools to turn awareness into action. This structure mirrors the journey of healing and advocacy. It doesn’t stop at the trauma, it moves into community, into conversation, and into change. So no, this isn’t just theater. It’s a call to action. And I believe when art and activism come together, something truly transformative can happen.

JS: Your production requires audience members to wear a specific blue t-shirt, essentially costuming them as part of the performance. What led to this choice, and how do you see it affecting the audience-performer relationship?

YB: The decision to have the audience wear a specific blue t-shirt wasn’t just symbolic, it was strategic, emotional, and deeply spiritual. Blue is the color used to represent human trafficking awareness in the U.S, and by asking the audience to wear it, I’m inviting them to do more than just observe, I’m asking them to take a stand. To move from being passive spectators to active witnesses. In many ways, it’s a form of communal costuming, yes, but also of collective solidarity. When everyone wears the same shirt, there’s no longer a divide between “us” and “them,” between performer and observer. We all become part of the story. We all carry the weight. And that shifts the energy in the room. It also sends a message to survivors in the space that they are not alone. That we see them. That we’re united in this fight, visually and emotionally. So, it’s more than a shirt. It’s a uniform for justice, and a reminder that freedom is something we fight for together.